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Creative Fire

Chapter Text

John yanked off his tie. "Sherlock, we're not detectives. You are an artist. I am your manager. Together, we make art."

Sherlock grumbled from where she was shimmying out of her dress. "If that Professor is actually a professor I will eat my entire collection. Nor do I believe that he works on secret projects for the military. I'd sooner believe that of Mycroft."

"Yes, you convinced me, but," John came close enough to touch, "that doesn't mean we need to hare off and try to prove the man is selling forged art."

Sherlock glared back at him. Breathing heavily. She'd been sweating under the hot lights at the opening of her exhibition "Deduction/Induction" at Hudson's Gallery on Baker Street. She would insist on wearing that coat of hers.

It wasn’t easy for two Alphas to be together. They fought as much as they had sex. More if Sherlock was in one of her creative phases and couldn't be bothered with things like eating or sleeping. And that was just between the two of them. Any time they left the city, any time they walked down the city street, John thought to himself, "Is that person over there the one someone who kills me for the scent of the person I love."

In this moment, there wasn't a lot of love.

Sherlock's glare was practically barbed wire. "John, that person said she wanted me to contribute art to her charity for disadvantaged Omegas. She's already had one of my pieces forged, and she did it poorly." Her snarl made for a rough kiss. More teeth than lips. Both of them struggling to dominate the other. That faint impulse to battle for the attention of an Omega who didn't exist.

John gave way first. He'd seen the look on her face when she's seen the painting. "Tomorrow, love. We'll be detectives. Tonight, paint this."

Her eyes widened. "You are a genius, John," and was off. He made tea while she worked and dug into what he could find about Professor J. Moriarty's charity Omegas First.

In the end, they didn't catch her for art forgery.

Although, he could have done without her setting their studio on fire.

Still Sherlock's next exhibition on the nature of creativity and destruction was amazing.

"You know you say that out loud," she whispered into his hair.

He laughed. She'd only told him that a few thousand times. "I can stop."

"No," she scented him. "You can keep doing it. I like it."